Arise, Skulduggery Pleasant
by ThinkChimerical
Summary: One-shot. How our favorite undead detective rose from the dead and who helped him. And no, he did not help himself. And no, Valkyrie did not help him either, as she was not born yet. Ratd T, because K sounds lame.


***Author's Notes* This is how I vizualize Skulduggery Pleasant being reanimated from the dead. If you have not read Mortal Coil, then I suggest you completely disregard this. From what I know of him, Lord Vile is my favorite Villian in the Skulduggery Pleasant Series. (If he turns out not to be that amazing, then it's Scrapegrace, King of the Zombies) Ahem. time for a *Disclaimer* I do not not own Skulduggery Pleasant, Series or Character. *Has a major temper tantrum* Or Lord Vile *Screams in Dismay* They belong to Mr. Derek Landy, our Golden God. (For those of you who read his awesome blog.) Did I mention he was awesome? He is. Really. Only Ray Bradbury is cooler. (And that's saying something.) Well, R&R please, if you're able. (Well, obviously, you're reading this, so review please.) I suspect you'll see me around soon. Enjoy. - ThinkChimerical ****

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Arise, Skulduggery Pleasant

The man in black armor approached the river. Shadows rose off him, almost as if they were alive. It was almost dawn. The man waded carefully into the swirling river, as though he was searching for something. He was apparently successful. He came out with a bag. Of something that clattered, and rattled, and it felt… full of pain. Fresh pain. Grief. Loss. The man-in-armor knew why. And then, the man could sense something deeper. Darker. Hate.

It came off the bag, in waves and torrents, black and ugly. It took all the man's strength not to drop it; it repelled him more than anything.

The man's name was Lord Vile.

He did not hate, love, or anything in between. He couldn't, not really. He despised those who let feelings get the better of them. He was always in his own self-interest. Always. And this, this bag, or rather what was _in_ it was in his self interest right now.

He opened the bag and dumped the contents on the muddy riverbank. What came out varied in different shapes and sizes, but all were charred, and underneath the blackness of ash… the whiteness of death. In the bag were another man's bones.

Almost lovingly, Vile picked each one up and scoured them clean with shadows. He laid them down on a blanket of death magic. He arranged them all, in their precise order. Except one. He picked up the skull, and whispered to it so quietly, it would have been a miracle if you heard it.

"Arise, Skulduggery Pleasant." The bones gave a faint groan of pain. The dead man's consciousness began to stir. The faint bits of a soul that still cling to a body after death grouped together grew, solidified. He woke. Lord Vile continued. He tapped the forehead of the skeleton.

"Think." The skeleton thought. If it could've it would've opened it's jaw and screamed. The pain was unbearable, suffocating him. He was alone in his black, cold chamber of thoughts.

"See." Through black and empty sockets the skeleton saw. Intense color and ethereal figures darted before them. Fresh pain erupted again. Sheer agony.

"Hear." The skeleton heard. Everything. He could hear Vile's voice amplified by a million. And he could hear the soft buzzing of bugs like they were the roar of a hurricane. More pain.

"Smell." Again, an intense flooding of the senses.

"Speak." Finally, _finally_, the skeleton could scream, express his pain. Vile looked at the skull with mild interest, as you do when you don't really want to listen to somebody, but must. Lord Vile set the skull on the ground, aligned it perfectly. Underneath his helmet, his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. The kind of smile a cat would have just as it's almost done mauling a mouse. Heading for the kill.

He sent his darkness flying around the bones, caressing them, and weaving through them. Twisting and spiraling they were, leaving no corner unexplored.

"And finally. Feel."

If the skeleton thought the flooding of his senses and consciousness was painful, this was more so. A thousand knives were buried in his bones. Fire burned him, and then he was boiling in acid.

Vile relented. The shadows stopped. As did the screaming. The skeleton gasped for breath, though it did not need it.

The dead man fell in a heap on the riverbank. Vile approached him. He grasped the skeleton's arms, forcing him up.

"You know me. Now you don't. Not anymore. Not ever. We never knew each other. You feel nothing for me. Nothing but hate. We will never meet, not that anyone will know, while I'm alive. You will kill me."

The skeleton took this all in dully. Vile's control over him was already working. More powerful than a real name was Vile. He could force anything, anyone to his will.

"You will only have the faintest inkling of this meeting, but you know who woke you from death. Remember just glimpses." Here he paused. "Consider what power I have, _to fully reanimate the dead. You live_. If you think I am this powerful now, just wait. This is only the beginning."

The skeleton felt, past the pain, fear, raw and powerful, growing within him.

Vile spoke again.

" From this night remember three things: One. You will tell them you awakened again by yourself. Never say, never admit that I did this. You will feel my wrath."

The skeleton shuddered.

"Two. You will run when I arrive. I care not where, just leave. You will run out of fear. You feel it now, don't you? The years you are gone will be full of terror for those left behind. Do not come back. You will kill me before you return.

"Three. This is the most important thing to remember. _I will return._ Even when you kill me I will return. I will never truly die."

The shadows slithered and writhed. They fell off the skeleton's bones and returned to Vile's armor. They coiled around him, wrapped him up like a cocoon. When they dissipated, he was gone.

All that was left was the man who had once been Skulduggery Pleasant.

He was a man who'd lost everything.

And now… he was unsure.

He knew something. It wasn't about this mysterious personage, this Lord Vile. He was scared of him that he knew. If he could raise the dead, what else, what other crimes against nature could he do? And have himself indebted to that monster? But no. He mustn't think on it now. The skeleton stored that bit of information in a corner of his skull, for later.

He looked at his bony fingers, arms, and legs. He was a monster, too. His humanity had burned away with his flesh. Wondering if it was still in him, the magic, he snapped his fingers, just to test. A small flame licked between them, reminding the skeleton of the fire that had charred away his body.

He felt no anger for the man who had awakened him. He was in fact, a little grateful. He would now finally be able take his revenge on the man who had cost him everything. His family and his life.

The skeleton gazed toward the river. He turned away, not looking back, and began walking. The sun crept up over the sky.

The man who once was Skulduggery Pleasant became so again.


End file.
